


My Salvation

by redhoodedangel



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Doctor/Patient, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedangel/pseuds/redhoodedangel
Summary: You are a Psychiatry Resident in Briarcliff. When you’re asked to go into therapy with Kit Walker, your logic says that everything about that man is innocent. “Does that make me crazy, Doctor?” he asked. You reached for his hands across the table and squeezed. “No.” you told him. “I’ll save you, Kit Walker. I’ll save you. No matter what.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissGeaNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGeaNoir/gifts).



> Rating you want your fic to be: BORDERLINE SMUTTY. LOL  
> Pairing: Kit Walker/Reader  
> Prompts: Reader is a Psychiatry Resident in Briarcliff who believed Kit is innocent, Kit being Heroic.  
> Things you want to include in your fic: A Fundraiser Gala, Cookies, and Shower ☺☺☺
> 
> Hope you enjoy it, Ger!

You walked down the corridor. The click clack sound of your sensible heels filled your ears. You held the files needed for your therapy session in one hand. You’ve been given the task to psychoanalyze Bloody Face by Doctor Oliver Thredson. You didn’t like it here at Briarcliff. There was something about this place that made wandering alone eerie. Your supervising physician Doctor Arthur Arden wasn’t the most pleasant person either. But it’s okay, you thought to yourself. One more year and your residency would finish and you could get the hell out of here.

You adjusted your crisp, white coat before opening the door, tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your loose bun as you sat and laid your files on the table before you. Bloody Face sat on the opposite of the table, his expression confused as he looked at you. You would have expected a laid-back and completely smug behavior from a man with crimes like Bloody Face’s, but the man was rather nervous. There was something…. beautiful about this man who was a supposed murderer. And you couldn’t help but be intrigued. After all, wasn’t that the reason you studied psychiatry in the first place? Because no matter how twisted it might sound, you found something delicately beautiful about the mentally unstable?

“A penny for your thought, Kit? Do you mind if I call you Kit?” You asked him.

You saw those soft eyes tinted with something you couldn’t pinpoint as he licked his lips. “No. Not at all.” He said.

You looked at the diagnoses file Oliver had given you. _Acute Hallucination, Delusional Disorder, Possible Multiple Personality Disorder_. Now, the first two you could make sense, but the last diagnosis was a bit unlikely.

“I’m Doctor (Y/N), Kit. I’m here because Doctor Thredson sort of wanted a different opinion. I will be your Doctor for a few sessions in the future, but Doctor Thredson will remain your primary Doctor. Is that clear?”

He nodded. You could feel his eyes on you as you wrote some stuff related to your session in your journal.

“You have nice clavicle.” You heard him say. At that, you stopped writing and looked at him, clearly taken aback by the sudden compliment. Feeling self-conscious, you shifted your shirt and cleared your throat.

“I’ve never really seen or had a female Doctor before.” He said. You could hear no malice but you had heard similar and worse sentences thrown at you through out your career so many times that you couldn’t help but fume.

“Excuse me! Are you insinuating that I can’t be a psychiatrist because I am female, Kit? That I sleep my way to the top? Is that why you complimented my physical feature earlier? That I leveraged on my physique to get what I want?? Let me assure you, Kit Walker, that I work fucking hard to get to where I am today-“

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” He said, eyes brimming with regret and…sympathy?

You gave him one last look, silently telling him to not bring this up ever again. “Tell me, Kit, do you truly believe that you can be cured? Because let me tell you, this isn’t going to work if you don’t find the will within you to cure yourself. You’re not one of those people who believe in the Anti-Psychiatry movement, I sure hope-“

“I didn’t do it.” He pleaded, “I didn’t kill Alma, or those people.”

There. You saw it at his mention of Alma, his late wife, you presume, you’ve heard some details from Oliver.

Remorse.

A killer who skinned his victims and wore his victims’ skins afterwards couldn’t possibly be capable of feeling such emotion, could he? From the fifteen minutes that you’d been in this room, everything about this man just screamed _innocent_. Why would Oliver be so hell-bent on him being Bloody Face, then? Surely a psychiatrist of his stature wouldn’t overlook this display of emotion, no matter how small. Unless…

“I believe you if you believe in me,” you paused. Before giving him chance to respond, you continued. “I really did work hard and I don’t like being underestimated. You have to cooperate with me and tell me what I ask of you as honest as possible. Understood?”

“O-Okay.” He nodded, pursing his lips.

You looked at those intense, brown eyes before whispering softly, “I believe you, Kit Walker. I believe you.”

* * *

 

You muttered a string of curse words as you stalked towards the inmate’s shower room. You utterly disliked the times you were in charge of assigned inmate’s hygiene for the day. It’s always rotated and you never knew whom you might get. You shuddered at the thought of having to be in charge of the chronic masturbator inmate. Of course, the two nurses who were supposed to work with you today were on leave, leaving you to carry out your duty alone.

Upon opening the door, you were surprised to find Kit Walker, sitting on a stool, hands on his crotch and already disrobed. Your eyes involuntarily traveled to the smooth expanse of his chest, down to the ridges of his stomach. You could see dark brown curls trailing down from the top of his pelvis, and you wished he had rested his hands someplace else.

“Hello, Doctor. It seems that you’re in charge of me today.” He gave you a half smile.

“I am. Looks like I didn’t have to tell you to undress anymore.” You smirked.

“You started to on your own after the first time. Wouldn’t want to be forcibly undressed and dragged by the hair here for the second time.”

Giving him a bitter smile, you grabbed the hose and promptly started washing Kit’s hair and body. Realizing that it’s just the two of you and the less-strained atmosphere outside of therapy, you just couldn’t pass up the idea of turning it into a “therapy”, hoping Kit would open up to you more.

“Tell me a secret, Kit.” You said as you shampooed.

“I didn’t kill those people.”

“That’s hardly a secret. Told ya I believe in you, didn’t I?”

You massaged his scalp, occasionally scratching and entangling the knots in his hair, feeling somehow ecstatic as you heard him hum in satisfaction. “Come on. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Uh- I like sugar cookies.”

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, making sure his brown locks were tangle-free and there were no foams left unwashed. You started applying the soap and scrubbed, fingers absentmindedly tracing the muscle on his back.

“Well, Doctor Arden gives me the creeps.” you confessed.

You felt him tensed. “You don’t know the half of it.” You heard him say, his voice low and breathy

“What’s your childhood like, Kit?”

“Don’t remember most of it, but I remember being content, I guess. My parents are not so bad. Would accompany my old man fixing things up on weekends sometimes. He’s a mechanic, you see. My mom’s a stay at home. She’d bake us cookies every Sunday”

“I suppose that’s where your fondness of sugar cookies came from, then?”

He hummed in reply.

After rinsing, you pressed your thumbs on the nape of his neck, dragging them down to the juncture where his neck and shoulder met, massaging. He moaned slightly, and you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking whether he would sound the same with you underneath-

“What about you, Doc?”

“Me?” You said, startled and attempted to quickly recover from your thought.

“Yeah, what’s your childhood like?”

“Well, as you know, I’m not from Massachusetts. I’m from New York. Dad’s okay, but I’m not all too fond of my Mom.”

“Oh.”

You grabbed a towel and dried his back, draping the towel in front of him as a silent demand for him to wrap it around his hips himself. He stood and turned around to face you.

“All done.” You said, giving him a pat on his shoulder.

“Thank You, Doctor.” He breathed as he took your hands in his. And before he left you could have sworn his eyes lingered on you two seconds too long.

* * *

 

Conversations fell easily with Kit after that. Therapy became more than just talks about how Kit was feeling and/or the weather. You talked about music and hobbies, and somehow you came to know how Kit took his coffee. You shared with him about your family, and your life before Briarcliff, your struggle in med school and how you’re underestimated a lot because of your gender. He did that too, said he didn’t dislike his job at the gas station. Kit told you about which inmates he trusted, which he didn’t, his friendship with Grace, and he also came to know that you spent most of your time in your quarters reading reference books for an upcoming journal you wanted to publish. He confided in you about Doctor Arden, and the knowledge didn’t sit well with you. You had wanted to confront the sadistic Doctor, but then decided against it. After all, he’s still your supervising physician. You had a gut feeling that all would be revealed in time.

You brought in a batch of sugar cookies that you baked with Sister Mary Eunice, and you watch his eyes shined with mirth as you offered him some and you both enjoyed the cookies in comfortable silence. He savored his cookie, eyes glued on you, ignoring the crumbs that stuck on his lower lip before dribbling down his chin. Your cheeks promptly started heating as your gaze locked on those intense eyes.

“Tell me about Alma.” You said quickly, desperate to get rid of the soft pink color that you’re so sure had adorned your cheeks.

“She’s beautiful, and kind,” he smiled, “You remind me of her, a little bit, actually.”

“Oh?”

“You’re compassionate, and fiery, like her,” you heard him say, feeling a twinge of hurt as you’d just been compared to his deceased wife, whom evidently he’d loved very much. “But you’re also resourceful, and smart.” he continued. You’re somehow glad that you were your own entity and had your own traits in his eyes that distinguished you from his late-wife. You didn’t quite understand how you could envy a dead woman. “Truthfully…” he said slowly, as if not sure whether the information he’s about to share is worth-sharing, which vexed you slightly because after your encounter in the shower and a few sessions together, you thought he’d be able to share his innermost thoughts with you without doubt or fear. “In this place…you’re the only one who keeps me… _sane_ ”

“Of course, silly. It’s _MY_ _job_.” You scoffed.

“No…Can I…Can I tell you a secret, Doctor?” he asked.

“Sure.”

 _I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours_.

“I feel like…I’m losing my mind the longer I stay here. Everyone’s so convinced that I’m Bloody Face. I know I’m not, and I know you think I’m not, either. But I’m scared…I’m scared of…I feel like the longer I’m here, the more I lose myself and the more I believe that I might be Bloody Face after all, that I killed Alma and those women. The things Doctor Thredson have told me…they make sense, you know? What if…. it really was me? Does that…does that make me crazy, Doctor?” he asked solemnly.

You shook your head at his question, reaching for his hands across the table and squeezed.

“No.” you told him, rubbing and tracing soothing circles on his knuckles. He looked at your entwined hands. And in honor of your strange secret sharing camaraderie with him where one had to share a secret when the other one did, you whispered, “I’ll save you, Kit Walker. I’ll save you. No matter what.”

* * *

The Briarcliff Manor was crowded with guests and patrons that night. It was the annual fundraiser’s gala and inmates who didn’t need to be restrained were obligated to help at the event. The girls like Grace and Lana helped in the kitchen, and the boys, dressed sharply in white shirt, slacks, black vest, and bow tie, served, bringing trays of champagne flutes and light refreshments. As a resident, you attended to guests, chatting up potential sponsors and intriguing them about various programs of the asylum. You had donned a long, silk midnight blue dress with sleeves made out of lace for the occasion, the fabric hugged your bodice fittingly. You did your hair in a half French twist, your curls bouncing slightly as you moved. You saw Kit from a distance, wearing a mandated waiter’s vest and bow tie with his usually mussed brown hair pulled back, offering guests flutes of champagne. He must have felt that you were staring, because the next thing you knew, your eyes met and he was smiling and walking towards you.

“Champagne for the lady?” He grinned.

You smiled as you grabbed a flute, slowly sipping your champagne as you looked at him playfully. You put your flute back on the tray he was holding, scooted over to his side, and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Kit. You look good tonight.” You said, pleased that you’re contributing to the fact that his fair skin now had a slight tint of red. He smiled sheepishly at you before he turned away, back to serving champagne flutes and attending to guests occupying the grand foyer of the Manor.

As you watched him walk away and dissipating among the crowd, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you turned away and clutched at your chest. Your gaze met with a man in a brown suit. His hair is matted black and combed, his nose crooked. His smile cocky, and rather than a smile, it looked like a grimace. Probably in his late 40s, you deduced.

“My dear, I’m so sorry for scaring you like that, but have we met before?” asked the man.

“I don’t think so. I’m Doctor (Y/N), and you are?” you said curtly as you held out a hand in front of him.

“Richard Cuthbert. Nice to meet you.” He sniffed as he shook your hand. Recognizing his name as one of the potential sponsors, you put on your best smile and start engaging with him, despite wanting to leave as soon as possible.

“Mr. Cuthbert! I’ve heard of you. How did you find Doctor Arden’s opening speech this evening?”

“Please, call me Richard. I find it really delightful. I find Briarcliff to be an extraordinary institution, especially after knowing that they employ a young and beautiful woman like you, Doctor.” He smirked.

“You’re too kind, Richard. I’ll be glad to talk to you about our purposes and programs in the future, asides from the one that Doctor Arden already mentioned, of course.”

“Maybe later, Doctor. Right now, I’m more intrigued about you. I don’t recall seeing you at some galas I attended before. Where did you go to school?”

“You’re right. I’m not from around here, Richard. I went to med school in New York.” You giggled. “My residency here is finishing soon in a year, though. I hope to move back to New York after Briarcliff. Perhaps, you know a physician or a friend whom you can refer to? Or maybe _you_ can be my referral.” You smiled playfully. It really hurt you to try to flirt with this man. But you’d do anything you could to make sure Briarcliff secure some donations. You were hoping that Briarcliff could have more choices in medicines and injections, and the amenities for the inmates in the future could be better, with the procurement of more comfortable beds and renovation of the showering quarters. And maybe have the electroshock therapy eradicated for something more modern, and humane. Like, perhaps, hydrotherapy?

“I might know someone. I will definitely refer his contacts to you for your perusal.” He said. “Doctor,” he continued, smirking, “perhaps you could give me a tour around the manor? Show me around the wards and labs among other things. I’d like to know every inch of the place I’m going to put my money into and be partners with.” Richard smiled.

“Sure, Richard. Come with me.” You said, gesturing him to follow you.

You led him and walked up the stairs, feeling his burning gaze behind you as he trailed your path. You started to get anxious when you turned to a corridor and realized that the lights were off. Maybe this was a bad idea, walking alone with a man whose profile you almost knew nothing about, despite being a potential sponsor. You should’ve brought someone with you, like Sister Jude, or Oliver. That’d be safer, right?

You were about to suggest to him to go to the other corridor instead, where the administration office was located in hopes that Sister Jude or someone else might be there, when you found yourself pinned against a wall. It happened so fast and with such a force that you whimpered in pain, convinced that your lower back would bruise and soon there would be a tiny protruding bump on the back of your skull in the next minute. Panicked, you started thrashing and flailing, but you could barely move. A strong arm held your hands over your head, restraining them. You opened your eyes and saw Richard’s ominously staring back at you, grinning manically. You tried to move your legs, but they were clamped between his thighs, and in doing so his body was pressed close yours, trapping you. You felt his arousal poking your stomach and shuddered in disgust.

“Don’t-“ you said, but his free hand shot up to cover your mouth.

“Sshh.. darling, just relax and enjoy. I really _do_ know plenty of physicians in New York. It’ll do you good if you’re willing.” Your heart beating in you so fast and your eyes already glassy with tears as he whispered.

He removed his hand from your mouth, and kissed you hard, effectively silencing whatever screams and cries for help you’re about to let out. He roughly pressed his hold on your hands, making you gasped in pain and taking advantage of it to force his tongue into your mouth, his free hand roaming your sides and groping your right breast. You closed your eyes, willing it all to go away as you felt something wet on your cheeks and realized you’d been crying. You felt so dirty, and cheap, to have been reduced to _this_ , like you’re some filthy mud beneath a shoe.

Just as his hand fumbled with the zipper on your back, you felt him being pulled away, and you sighed in relief. When you opened your eyes, you saw Kit Walker beating him to a pulp on the floor. Regaining a fraction of your normal strength, you pried Kit away, hugging him.

“He’s not worth it, Kit.” You said, your voice hoarse. You felt him started to relax in your embrace.

On the floor, Richard squeaked and grimaced in pain, his eyes swollen and his nose bloodied.

“What is going on here?” said a voice. You saw Doctor Arden standing in the hallway.

You spoke up immediately. “Doctor Arden, Mr. Cuthbert here, he assaulted me. Fortunately, Kit Walker came to my rescue. He _stopped_ him. He _saved_ me from a sexual assault, Doctor.”

Doctor Arden gave a long, hard look at Kit, before looking at Richard in pain on the floor. He promptly helped Richard up then. “Come on, Richard. You and I have something to talk about now.” He said, propping Richard to walk out of the corridor- to his office, you guessed.

As Doctor Arden and Richard disappeared from your line of sight, Kit took your hands in his, looking at your reddened wrist, chafed from Richard’s attack earlier. You grimaced a little. He opened the door of the room closest to you and gently pulled you inside. The old physical examination room, you later realized.

“What did he do to you?” His skin was cool against yours, and you found him rubbing your wrists calmingly.

You broke into sobs then, remembering for a fleeting moment how you’ve felt used and tainted. He immediately cupped your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. You sobbed even more and pulled him into another hug.

“I feel dirty.” You said against his shoulder. “I feel dirty and used and Oh God, Kit,” you continued on a choked sob. He merely patiently listened and stroked lovingly at your hair. “It’s so disgusting. I want to forget he ever touched me, Kit.” You sniffed, shaking your head. “I want his touch replaced. I want it gone!

“Kit…” you breathed. “ _Save Me_.”

It seemed that your plea was his undoing because suddenly his lips were on yours. He kissed you softly, carefully, as though in his mind you're a fragile bone china that would break. His lips on your skin felt pleasant, not unwelcoming like Richard's had been.

That Bastard.

Even with Kit whispering worships of you in your ear, you still felt it, ghosts of Richard's disgusting touches crawling away. You wanted it off, gone. You wanted every trace of it to disappear and to not remember any of it tomorrow.

_Make me forget_

"I want you to touch me where he touched me," you pleaded, half choking on your own tears. You hastily brought his hands to your sides, and Kit started caressing you, taking his time treasuring you, touching your body in reverence. His touch was different, you realized. And his hands alone, who were currently doing magic to your body, were enough to let your forget your attacker’s name as well as your own. You guided his hand to your right breast, he squeezed, and this time you gasped in pleasure. He kissed your neck, finding your sensitive spot, sucking and licking at the skin there, and you let out a sigh. He reached behind you for your zipper, tugging it down slowly, lips never leaving your skin. He pulled away only to help you wriggle out of your dress. You felt the dress fell down and pooled at your feet as his lips met yours again, only this time the kiss was far more heated and you put your arms around him. He lifted you slightly, holding your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked over to the bed in the room and laid you down there, looking appreciatively and smiling at the sight of you in a white lace brassiere. He undressed himself as you undid the clasp of your bra and removed your bottom. He went on top of you, palming your breasts, brushing your nipples with his thumbs. You arched yourself into his palms.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine and heat to your lower belly. You felt him trailing a path with his fingers to your stomach and slipped them inside you, delighted to find you’re as eager as he was. He found your clit and pressed, circling it sinuously that had your cry turned into a long, undulated moan. He pumped one- two fingers inside you, readying you, and you lifted your hips to meet his fingers. He pulled his fingers out, and guided himself to you, his tip at your entrance.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You moaned and grinded against him, “Please.” You managed to say. It was another plea.

He thrust into you slowly,- and you mewled in the process- but he picked up his pace afterwards and soon had you seeing stars and moaning his name like prayers. You came and brought him with you. He groaned and murmured your name over and over and over.

He pulled out and shifted, pulling you to him so that your head rested against his chest. You looked up to him and saw him smile, looking thoroughly satiated. You smiled at him too. He stroked your hair again, lulling you to sleep. You started to close your eyes, sinking into dreams.

But before you did, you could hear him whispering, softly, almost inaudibly,

“ _You already saved my soul. So now let me save yours_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whew. I do realize that this is not exactly borderline smutty anymore. I am so sorry. *sprays this with holy water*


End file.
